


The Experts Can't ALWAYS Be Wrong

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 21:31:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21106340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: In Craig Garrison's experience, advice from the 'experts' on dealing with a troubling situation came in many varieties.  Some said you needed to sit back and think things through clearly.  Others, that you needed a little knowledge of psychology to help matters along.  And from one expert?  "Sometimes you just need a brick."





	The Experts Can't ALWAYS Be Wrong

Garrison had groaned when he'd first gotten word of the newest set of mandatory 'educational opportunities' being 'made available' for the team leaders. Somehow, to his mind anyway, 'made available' meshed poorly with the concept of 'mandatory'.

Now, he opened that tan envelope and pulled out the outline of what should have been a day of training with his men for that next difficult mission, now having been turned into a day of him sitting in a hard chair in a room listening to the latest 'experts' HQ had dredged up from the bowels of somewhere. He was annoyed enough that he'd be willing to offer an opinion of where that 'somewhere' was, as unlikely as it might seem, though probably that fiery pit DID have a goodly collection of experts of various kinds. 

The groan this time had been loud enough to catch the attention of the men coming in from the shooting range. They'd paused, but Actor had quickly motioned the others on up the stairs, and came to the door of Garrison's office.

"Problems, Craig?"

Garrison waved the sheets of paper over his head, like he would have given anything to just throw them in the air. It was with a voice of sheer disgust he explained.

"Psychologists this time, Actor. Again. Psychologists, efficiency experts, statistical probability experts, all looping in a big, never-ending stream of nonsense."

Actor huffed with amusement at the expression on the young officer's face. 

"We use psychology in our work, Craig, every time we go out. We use efficiency theory AND try to put statistical probability on our side. Is it so painful to learn more on the subjects? I should think it would be helpful. After all, the experts can not ALWAYS be wrong."

Whether the con man truly believed that or not, one could not have told from the benign look on his face. After all, playing devil's advocate just went with his role in the team, and he was very good at it.

Garrison glowered at his second in command. 

"Yes, Actor, it is! Painful, I mean! Maybe I'll come down with a bad case of something-or-other and let YOU sit through eight hours of THIS!"

He held out the sheets and Actor read through the listings carefully. 

"I do see how this might be a less than stimulating day, certainly less than some of what you are required to be involved in. Still, you might learn something that would be quite useful."

Garrison's look of disgust was taken in good humor by their con man. 

The other members of the team hadn't taken the resultant lecture from Actor in nearly that much good humor. Well, they were okay with the first twenty minutes, but as he was now going on and on and on, explaining everything that was on their leader's agenda for the next day, and it was well into the evening, their patience was rapidly coming to an end.

Finally, they'd heard about all they wanted to hear on that particular subject.

"Shit, Beautiful! It's all just figuring out how people think, right? Whatta ya need all those big words for, just to prove how smart you are? 'Transference'; 'Repression'; 'Regression'; 'Compartmentalization'. Give me a break!" 

No, Casino wasn't impressed, that was obvious.

Chief picked up on the litany. 

"And 'Psychological Projection'. Can't leave that out, Pappy. Sounds real important." 

It was impossible to tell by the deadpan expression on the young man's face as to whether he really thought that or not.

Goniff chimed in, "and let's not forget 'Reaction Formation' and 'Dissociation'."

He put a disgusted look on his face, though again, whether it was real or not was up for debate. Sometimes yanking the con man's chain was a group sport in and of itself, one everyone enjoyed, except perhaps the tall Italian, and even THAT wasn't a certainty.

"Blimey, Actor! It's all just 'ow someone reacts w'en they get cornered or scared or someone pushes their buttons, right? Everyone I know on the streets and in the slam, if they were 'alfway smart, learned you 'ad to watch for that, figure that out; it's what 'elped keep you alive. Bet you there aint ONE of them w'at knows those big fancy words, but they know W'AT, if you know w'at I mean."

He snorted in derision.

"Just like HQ, thinking they 'ave all the answers. A fancy education don't mean you know everything, you know, or that those WITHOUT, don't know nothing. You should know that, Actor. Sure, you 'ave some of that fancy schooling maybe, least you say you do and you can talk like you do, but you can't tell me you learned all you know, all you can do, that way. A lot of that came the 'ard way, like with the rest of us, while trying to scratch by and keep breathing."

Garrison had listened with distracted amusement, though the amusement faded as he tried to focus on that last job, what had gone awry, along with the new job that had even greater potential for turning into a disaster, plus that damned 'educational opportunity' he was facing the next day. So many things he needed to focus on, so little time to get it all straight.

He'd fumed inwardly, and outwardly, if only to Actor, at having to spend an entire long day-into-night on traveling to London, there listening to a bunch of long-winded blowhards and then making the long drive back, when he should be focusing on the preparation for what they would be facing in less than a week. 

Now, though, hearing the men disparage those same blowhards, he was starting to feel a little defensive, for some reason. Especially, hearing Goniff scoff like that, seeing the disdainful look on the Cockney's face, was a little uncomfortable. 

After all, Garrison had that same 'fancy education' as the experts, or the equivalent anyway, and didn't see it as the inconsequential detail that Goniff seemingly did. 

And that attitude, so firmly expressed, just might put a crimp in the work Garrison was doing with Chief, prodding and encouraging the young man to broaden his own scope of learning. 

And frankly, it felt a little like an insult, like Goniff was disrespecting HIM by having such an attitude. He easily put out of his mind that his OWN thoughts about those 'experts' hadn't been so favorable either; that was different!

Goniff could feel the look of disapproval coming from the corner table where Garrison was working, sent a questioning look in that direction. He wasn't sure just what he'd said to annoy the officer so much, but obviously there had been something. Those tight lips and slight frown were evidence enough of that. 

{"Course, maybe 'e's thinking, with a fancier education, lots of us wouldn't 'ave BEEN out on the streets or in the slam in the first place. Maybe thinking we should 'ave tried 'arder in that respect, though wasn't like there were the same chances for most of us, not like for 'im and 'is sort. Chiefy 'ad NO chance, and me not much more; was lucky to get w'at I did, and 'ad to sneak around to do that. Casino, at least 'e got through w'at 'e called 'igh school. And who knows about Actor?"}

The Englishman inadvertently let just a little of that tiny twinge of insulted resentment into his own gaze, reacting to the disapproval in Garrison's eyes, enough that Garrison saw, even if perhaps he didn't understand the reason.

In any case, there was enough going through EACH of their minds, an entire conversation back and forth but without words, each projecting their own thoughts and interpretations on the other, that it led to a more vocal disagreement later. Oh, it was carried out in low tones, off in a side corridor where no one else would hear, and it was exceedingly brief, but there was a certain coolness in the air when the two parted, Garrison for his bedroom, Goniff for the Dorm.

Garrison left for London the next morning, long before dawn, without seeing any of the guys. In fact, as he passed the door to the Dorm, he glanced over and tightened his lips in annoyance, remembering the night before, and straightened his posture to even more of a ramrod stiffness than he'd worn before, put a strictly professional expression on his face.

There might not be anyone to SEE, but he felt compelled to EXPRESS his continued disapproval (ie, snit - though he'd have glared even more if anyone had called it that), if only to the darkness of the hall and staircase. And anyway, there was just a slight chance his pickpocket might hear him, peek out the door and see, understand that, yes, he was still a little irritated. It might cause the annoying man to think things over a little more carefully while Garrison was gone.

Watching from the darkened window, Goniff noted the rigid posture as Garrison exited the front door, and shook his head ruefully. He'd hoped to hear Garrison get up in time for him to sneak out, maybe try to smooth over that foolishness from last night, but he hadn't, so now all he could do was watch the officer climb into the jeep and drive away. 

Sighing, he made his way back to his cot and tucked in to get what he could of sleep before Sergeant Major Rawlins bawled out the order to 'get a move on!'. He wasn't overly-successful.

Garrison sat through those long hours of meetings, frustrated at how totally useless his time was being spent. The chairs were hard, the coffee weak and yet somehow managing to be bitter in spite of that, and the rolls were so stale, they were probably leftover from the meeting the day before. And as dry as those rolls were? The speakers upped the ante on dryness to a new level, one the pastries didn't stand a chance at competing with.

{"Psychobabble, yet again! Where do they GET these guys??"}. 

The whole theme of the day seemed to be about 'hard times demanding hard actions', and not letting your emotions hold you back from the actions required. Along with giving the room a list of psychological terms to learn and memorize. All this from men who looked like they'd never even experienced getting damp in the rain, much less what Garrison and the other team leaders and their men went through on a regular basis.

{"A vocabulary list?? Like in sixth grade? Are we going to have a pop quiz later? Who does he think he's talking to, a bunch of newbies? Every man in this room is a field agent in one manner or other, has been face to face with 'hard times, hard actions'. And if they couldn't cope, they wouldn't be here - they'd either be dead or in another field!"}

This latest, this 'presentation'? Something about transference or maybe it was quantitative repression (or was it 'regression'?) and dealing with the consequences of your actions, or was that the one before? By now, it was all running together in his mind, not that his mind was paying all that much attention anyway.

No, his mind kept tuning out the droning voice from the front of the room, going back to the disagreement he'd had back at the Mansion. 

Oh, it hadn't been a huge one, not really anything that wouldn't, couldn't, be solved with a few quiet words of explanation, an apology for how it all sounded, well, maybe more how it LOOKED, not like he'd meant it at all, not really. Well, not anymore, not once the drive had cleared his head, made him realize how foolish the whole thing had been. 

He'd just been so damned frustrated, on so many levels, and not nearly so much with the person he'd been arguing with, as with the situation at large! SEVERAL situations, in fact.

But still, it was a situation he regretted not dealing with before he'd taken off for London HQ. He had the increasingly uncomfortable feeling that he'd have been better off being late to that meeting than leaving so precipitously, remembering those shuttered eyes watching him as he'd stalked out of the room the night before. Why did those pained blue eyes keep haunting him now? 

{"Well, no sense dwelling on it now, Garrison."}

And it was true, wasn't it? He had to sit through all this nonsense before he could leave, and there was no real urgency. After all, he'd take care of it all when he got back. 

And besides, it would all be easy enough. Goniff cut him a lot of slack, always did, understood the pressure he was under. And, truthfully, Goniff had started it with that disdainful response to Actor's monologue. 

{"And he HAD been disrespectful, even if not out loud,"} Garrison reminded himself, though not quite as sure of that as he had been earlier.

{"You're just taking this far too seriously. No, not a problem,"} he kept reassuring himself. He had time to make things right. Now, if that blasted man would just finish whatever nonsense he was babbling on about! Now, it seemed, the topic was 'psychological projection'. 

The dry voice explained, "a defense mechanism where an individual, or a group, feeling itself under attack, whether that is the case or not, defends itself by projecting their own thoughts with regard to their strengths or weaknesses or failings, onto another. It requires, at its simplest, most basic level, you thinking you can read someone else's thoughts and motives with little or no input from that other person. And, of course, reacting as if those thoughts and motives are TRUE and ACCURATE, no matter how little that might be the case. It is NOT a viable substitute for a calm conversation between two rational individuals, and can have some exceedingly dire effects if those projections are something other than the truth. Which, since few of us have the talent for mind reading, they usually are. Even if we could somehow catch a glimpse, there are always nuances that are not so easy to grasp."

Garrison, now alert, was now staring at the chunky man with the moustache, frowning with a level of concentration he'd not shown before. Somehow, that description caught his attention, more than anything else that had been said during the course of the day. Enough so that he found himself squirming uncomfortably in his chair, and for more reason than just having been sitting for too long. 

{"Psychological projection,"} and he replayed that scene in the Common Room and winced. He listened to the rest of the thankfully-short lecture, and was the first out the door. No one thought to hold him back, try to converse with him - his sense of urgency was all too apparent.

He'd been hurrying back from London, on unfamiliar roads due to the detours everywhere because of the bombings and the resulting road damage, blackout rules keeping him from using his headlights, when he'd encountered that unexpected dip in the road, then the impact with the deep pothole had caused the jeep to go flying, then come to an abrupt halt. 

Now, he lay there, sprawled across the seat, staring up at the stars spinning overhead. Spinning, spinning, spinning. Just as his mind was spinning, spinning, spinning, til it spun totally out of control and he lost consciousness. 

Now, it seemed his subconscious mind was spinning as well, spinning a tale of anger and misunderstanding, a tale that was as much a reason for that low groan of pain as was the place where his head had connected with an unforgiving object, perhaps the rim of the door on the jeep.

He'd come to, eventually, laboriously pulled himself up into the seat of the jeep that miraculously still started when he turned the key. All that he'd seen, far too clearly, while he'd been laying there kept replaying in his mind, conveying an even greater sense of urgency. 

The guard at the gate got only an impatient nod and the bare pretense of a salute as the jeep flew past to stop at the closest point to the front entrance, leaving that man frowning in concern. He'd recognized Garrison, of course, and hadn't worried about it being an intruder. But usually the lieutenant slowed down, had a few casual words to say, not rushed by like his hat was on fire.

The team leader had surged into the Mansion and up the stairs, surprising the four men at a card game. They'd turned to see a frowning Garrison, hands on his hips, glaring at Goniff and totally ignoring the rest of them.

"Goniff, you, now! Downstairs and into the jeep! No arguments!" and there was no give in the officer's face or his voice. 

The others stared, open-mouthed, as the disheveled officer chivied the protesting pickpocket out and down the stairs.

"What on earth has he done now?" Actor wondered, while Casino and Chief just looked bewildered. Usually if their pickpocket got up to mischief, they had at least a hint of it! But this time? 

They watched from the window, just as bewildered as that guard, watching that jeep go whizzing back out the gate as fast as it had come in.

The Cottage had been empty and dark, Meghada away on some job for Kevin Richards. It didn't matter; they both knew where the key was hidden, and Garrison had made speedy work of it. His hand on Goniff's shoulder urged the smaller man into the dark interior of the kitchen, spun the man around, his back to the counter.

Goniff was more than bewildered. Garrison hadn't said a word to him during the very brief dash from the Mansion to the Cottage, not even brought up that silly whispered argument they'd had before Garrison had to leave for that meeting at HQ. Well, that had been beyond foolish, even Goniff had to admit that, on both their parts. He still wasn't sure what they'd been arguing about, and he HAD given it some thought.

"W'at the 'ell, Craig??!" 

That brief protest had been drowned in the hard lips bearing down on his, any thought of resistance being washed away by the desperate passion that surged to the forefront, first Craig's, then Goniff's catching fire before the first kiss had ended. 

Well, it had never taken much, between the two of them, for the embers to burst into flames, not once they'd acknowledged what there really was between them. Goniff had often wondered at that. With Meghada, it was usually a sweet, slow building of intensity, and while it was that way SOMETIMES with Craig, more often it was a sudden combustion. Now, flames surplanted any need for apologies or explanations or anything else, and no matter how that might have offended anyone else, THEY were comfortable with that. Not that those other things wouldn't be addressed, but they would be an afterthought, not something for now when it might temper the flames, the heat, the elemental reality.

Later, in the silence, their breathing and heartbeats finally coming to a slower rhythym, Garrison explained. 

"It was so damned clear, Goniff! I though I was losing my mind, you know, when I came to, not sure for awhile whether I'd imagined it or not! A quarrel, and no, I don't know what it was about; maybe something as foolish or inconsequential as what really had happened. But there we were, yelling at each other, you walking away, letting me know you were fed up, finished with me for good - me furious, hurt, but not going after you, not trying to change your mind, just headed out for a meeting with HQ, trying to maintain my pride, pretending it didn't even matter! Then, the call."

Goniff smoothed his hand gently over Garrison's hair, that damp gold-blond head nestled into Goniff's shoulder, the pickpocket listening to the words, feeling the raw emotion there. 

"They showed me to the library, showed me . . . Damn, Goniff! The rope burns around your neck, the angle showing your neck had been broken in the fall from the rafters! Christ, I can't explain what I felt! That I had caused that! Had hurt you so much just because I was afraid of appearing weak or foolish! Had been so damned stupid!" 

Dropping a quick kiss on his partner, Goniff hurried to salve the residual pain he'd heard so clearly in Garrison's voice. 

"Shush, Craig; it didn't 'appen, none of it, now did it? Need to get you to Doc Riley in the morning, check out that bump on your 'ead, see if you took any other damage. Wouldn't be surprised; that's a very nice goose egg you 'ave there, you know.

"And another thing - just so you know. I aint going to be walking away, not in EITHER way, no matter w'at disagreements we 'ave; it's too important, w'at we 'ave, you and me. Not unless you for sure WANT me gone, tell me so flat out and really mean it. So, w'at you were seeing, w'at you thought I'd done? That aint going to be 'appening."

His voice shifted from dead serious to slightly teasing.

"Might end up slapping you upside your stubborn 'ead with a nice brick, sometime, or maybe you'll be the one doing the slapping upside mine. Seems just as likely, if not more, knowing the both of us. But I aint going to be walking away from you, not in ANY way, not on purpose, as long as you want me to stay. 

"Otherwise, we'll manage, some'ow, w'atever it is, this 'psychological projection' thing you were talking about, or w'atever. Though, maybe instead of imagining w'at each other is thinking, just SAYING it might be smarter, ASKING."

He gave a wry laugh. "But I'm not looking for any miracles, being as it's you and me. But if we can't seem to make it come back in line, bet 'Gaida will be able to 'andle the matter. Maybe with a brick upside BOTH our 'eads! 'As a knack for that, you know! Wouldn't raise an eyebrow at the doing, neither."

Garrison chuckled, and nodded his head tiredly, weary beyond even thinking, physically and emotionally. 

"Yeah, I can see her doing that, easy enough."

'Tough love' took on a whole new meaning when you involved the redheaded Dragon; they'd seen that more than once. Well, neither of them would quarrel with that, not if it saw them safely through the quagmire that surrounded and threatened them and all they, all three of them, were trying to build together.

As exhausted as they both were, neither one of them even considered making the trip back to the Mansion. There was just too much to be said, even if a great deal of it was said without the use of words. Too much reassurance that needed to be given on either side. And somehow, they managed to keep the inaccuracy of projection from coming between them.

In the morning, fixing a pot of coffee, Goniff suddenly chuckled. 

"Just w'at do we tell the guys, about us disappearing like that? They're going to ask, you know! Coo, Craig! You pulled me out of there like you'd just figured out I was thinking of stealing the crown jewels, or maybe already 'ad!"

Garrison grinned a little sheepishly, remembering the shocked looks on the other three men's faces, well, on all FOUR men's faces, and admitted his pickpocket was right.

"Yeah, I know. So? What have you been up to that would have gotten me that upset? I know you, Goniff; there has to be something."

That got a full out laugh, and a look, a smile, that was like a combination of warmed honey and melted butter, with a jigger of bourbon and a teaspoon of cinnamon included, bringing back and reinforcing some of the feelings from the night before. Garrison tried to keep his mind on the subject at hand, his pickpocket's impertinent response, but it wasn't easy. 

"Well, more than likely I 'ave, Craig, but nothing I'm going to admit to, and likely nothing you're wanting to 'ear. 'Ow about we come up with something that DOESN'T involve me, at least not directly? And something that explains why neither of us got back til this morning? Other than that trip to Doc Riley. Without 'aving to outright lie about it, I mean. May 'ave to 'appen sometimes, but would like to keep it to a minimum, you know, with the guys. Gets 'ard to keep it all straight, who you said w'at to, you know. Not that last night wasn't worth 'aving to tell a few lies."

Goniff smiled that smile again, and Garrison felt the heat all the way to his bones.

That smile, and that response, that led to another little sharing of warmth and perhaps much more, if not helping a lot in figuring out how to explain it all to the guys.

In the end, they kept it simple and it worked well enough, both using the redhead at the Cottage as a 'fall-guy', as it were. It wasn't the first time, most likely wouldn't be the last. Luckily, she usually found that amusing, more than not, at least where THEY were concerned.

"No, just . . . Well, I can't really explain. I'm pretty sure Meghada would be more than a little upset, you know. I think we all just need to pretend it didn't happen. Hopefully it won't happen again, anyway," Garrison admitted ruefully, not quite meeting anyone's eyes as he made his declaration. Not even Actor could get him to say any more.

Goniff just shrugged when the guys cornered him later in private. 

"Like the Warden said, best not be saying anything. 'Gaida is bound to be pissed enough as it is. And you know how she gets."

And as for Meghada?

Pissed, no, she wasn't pissed when they finally told her the whole sad story, more amused and incredulous as they made their faltering explanations. But she did have to admit, she was going to look for a brick to keep close at hand. 

"Just in case, lads. Just in case. Sometimes, the two of you, I swear . . ."


End file.
